


The Morning After

by Rosie_Rues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-31
Updated: 2006-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a drunken encounter, Sirius panics that Remus can't possibly really fancy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

Sirius woke up feeling debauched. His head was thumping faintly with a hangover and his limbs were heavy. Everything between his waist and his knees ached in an almost pleasant way. He frowned, trying to remember where he’d been last night and came up blank.

He opened his eyes cautiously, aware that there was a heavy weight on his shoulder, and it was snuffling.

The ceiling didn’t look like his, which was odd, because wherever he was smelt like his flat, and the traffic noise was at just the right volume. His room, though, had a crack the shape of Snivellus’ nose on the ceiling. The one in here was more a sort of lopsided rabbit.

The snuffling thing on his shoulder yawned faintly and snuggled closer. A hand, long-fingered and warm, closed around his hip. It was a decidedly unfeminine hand, and the cheek against his shoulder was sandpapery against his bare skin.

Okay, so he’d either come home with the Bearded Lady or he’d pulled a bloke. Not enough to panic about in itself – he’d fancied blokes before (or well, a bloke, if one was being particularly accurate). He’d just never quite worked out how to approach strange ones without getting himself punched.

Problem was, if he was in his flat, but not his bed, and with a bloke, that rather indicated…

He looked sideways, very slowly.

Mousy brown hair, ruffled by sleep and run through with the odd grey strand.

Oh, fuck. Fuckity, fuckity, fuckity _fuck_.

He’d only bloody gone and slept with Remus.

Before the scream locked in his throat could get out, he rolled off the bed and legged it for the bathroom. It was a matter of seconds to bolt the door behind him, and then his stomach came rising, and he found himself praying to the toilet bowl.

When he was done he rested his head against the cool porcelain and tried to think soberly about the entire situation despite the still considerable amounts of alcohol in his bloodstream.

James was going to kill him. Lily was going to kill him. Peter was – well, Pete probably wouldn’t kill him, but he’d hold James’ coat for him.

Oh, fuck.

Remus had had a whole string of very nice girlfriends, and three equally nice boyfriends, all of whom had been delighted to introduce him to their mothers. He took them out to dinner and to terribly intellectual films and always walked them home afterwards, because he too was bloody nice not to. Of course, none of them appreciated his sense of humour, or his ability to wait weeks to execute a beautiful revenge, or that careful little smile he allowed himself when he’d done something perfectly, whether it be prank or mission.

None of that mattered, because they were all the right sort of people. Remus was looking for the right person, he’d said so, last time they got drunk together. _I want someone I can trust,_ he’d said, looking down and fiddling with the label on his bottle. _Someone who will always stand by me._

Sirius had almost got him killed, not just that awful time in sixth year, but all the times he’d taken a risk when they were working together.

Remus didn’t need a reckless, spendthrift, hard-drinking git who knew more about motorcycles than he did about birds.

Or blokes, in this all too important case.

Added to that, Remus didn’t fancy him, current evidence to the contrary. After seven years in the same dorm, and one in the privacy of the flat, he’d had ample opportunity to make a move. He hadn’t, not until last night when, if Sirius’ hangover was anything to go by, they had got absolutely hammered.

The problem was, Sirius concluded miserably, that Remus was honourable. He’d insist on doing the right thing, which would either be sleeping with Sirius again when he didn’t want to, or, even worse, moving out.

Either would be intolerable.

There was a knock at the door, and Remus’ voice said hesitantly, “Padfoot?”

Sirius whimpered.

“I – are you – is everything alright?”

Sirius’ brain was suddenly flushed with panic. He had to _do_ something. Perhaps, perhaps, if he lied-

“Sick,” he wailed.

“Do you want a potion?” Remus asked. He sounded rather subdued, and his voice was muffled, as if he was leaning his forehead against the door.

“No,” Sirius said. “Think I drank too much. Can’t remember.”

He heard Remus’ sharp breath. “What can’t you remember?”

“Anything,” Sirius said, chewing his lip. Would it work? “Can’t remember coming home.”

“Oh,” Remus said, and he sounded very tired. “You didn’t go out, Sirius.”

“Was I drinking alone?” Sirius asked, hoping he was injecting the correct degree of incredulity.

“No,” Remus said, and that was his quiet, folded-up, miserable voice. “You were drinking with me.”

Shit, flaw – it was only half an hour since he’d woken up in Remus’ bed. To buy thinking time, he demanded, “Why aren’t you throwing up?”

“Somebody,” Remus said, “is occupying the bathroom.”

Ah, there! Solution.

“Woke up here,” Sirius said, feeling pleased with himself.

There was silence from the other side of the door, and then Remus said, “Well, if you don’t mind going back to your own bed, I need a piss.”

*

By the time he felt well enough to eat, Sirius’ misery had settled into despair. It had been hard enough fancying Remus without the little snatches of memory that kept descending on him, making his blood hot, and his cheeks prickly with heat, and the blood pool between his legs. He didn’t need to know how the sweat gathered on Remus’ forehead as he fucked him. Oh, Merlin, he didn’t _need_ the memory of Remus’ lips, or the salty taste of his sweat, or the way he had closed his eyes and whimpered when Sirius touched him.

Fuck. How the hell was he meant to hide this stupid infatuation now?

Remus was picking up the clothes scattered across the room, his forehead creased as if his head really hurt. Sirius slid further down into the sofa, closing his eyes. Drunkenness and nudity often went hand in hand. It was perfectly plausible that he wouldn’t realise there was anything significant about the fact his trousers were dangling off the side of the telly.

“So,” he said to the ceiling. “You got anything planned for tonight?”

“No,” Remus said.

“What about Pony Girl?”

“Who?”

Sirius gestured vaguely. “Fringe. Big teeth.”

“Fiona,” Remus said coldly.

“Yeah, her. Thought you were taking her to the cinema.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Shouldn’t waste the tickets.”

Remus threw the clothes onto the nearest chair. “Well, I don’t suppose you’d consider seeing it with me?”

“What is it?” Sirius asked. He hated Remus’ taste in films, which ran towards meaningful silences, rather than big explosions.

“ _La Cage aux Folles._.”

“Is it French?” Sirius asked doubtfully. “How boring is it?”

“It’s not,” Remus said primly.

“You said that about that one with the woman who has an affair with the bald bloke. That was French.”

“You have no taste in films.”

“I liked _Superman._ ”

“Precisely,” Remus snapped and stomped towards the door, shoulders set. “Just fuck off, Sirius.”

“Moony?” Sirius said, sitting up, but the door was already slamming behind him.

Sirius huddled back into the sofa. That just proved his point. They hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that they’d had sex, and it was already destroying their friendship. If they did it again, they’d end up hating each other and then Remus would move out and then he’d almost starve and he’d have to go to the werewolves for shelter and Voldemort would find out and torture him _horribly_ until he revealed the secrets of the Order and then everyone would _die_.

Sirius would just have to be strong for both of them.

*

Midway through the afternoon, inspiration struck again, and he went to see Lily.

To his horror, he emerged from the fireplace to find her and James entangled on the sofa.

Covering his hands with his eyes, he retreated into the kitchen.

After a few moments of squeaks and giggles from the living room, James demanded, at full volume, “What the fuck do you want, you wanker?”

“Don’t want to talk to you,” Sirius said, lowering his hands. “Want to talk to Lily.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Talk to Lily,” Sirius reiterated.

She appeared behind James, her blouse done up crookedly and her hair wild. “Couldn’t it wait?”

“You never want to talk to Lily,” James said over her. “Why not me?”

“Not exactly your area of expertise, Prongs, mate,” Sirius said gloomily.

“What isn’t?” James demanded.

“Sleeping with blokes.”

Lily blinked. “If you want advice about the mechanics, it’s quite different for girls.”

“I know that bit,” said Sirius. “It’s the afterwards.”

“Well,” Lily said. “Have you talked to Remus?”

“He hates me because I like Superman. Hang on – I never said it was-”

“Don’t be silly, Sirius,” Lily snapped. “What’s this about Superman?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius said. “That’s just why he hates me. The sex was all a mistake, and he doesn’t fancy me, so that’s not why he’s upset.”

“Time to put the kettle on, I reckon,” said James with a sigh.

When Lily had got the whole story out of him, in bits and pieces, she sat back, pressing her fingers together under her chin.

“Well?” Sirius said hopefully.

“Go home, grovel, and shag Remus again.”

He sagged back. She didn’t get it. “He’s going out with Fiona the Pony.”

“Good Lord,” said James. “And I thought you were the pervert round here.”

“If you mean Fiona Heatherly, that’s very unfair, Sirius. She can’t help her teeth.”

“She whinnies when she laughs,” Sirius pointed out.

“Oh,” James said. “Not a real pony.”

“Hufflepuff,” Sirius explained. “Likes guinea pigs, dressmaking and hairy men. Talks too much.”

“I don’t think she’s relevant,” Lily said firmly. “Just talk to Remus, Sirius.”

“Excellent,” James said. “All sorted, then. Now piss off so I can finish what you interrupted.”

Lily giggled, blushing, and Sirius shot them both a glare of deep reproach. Further proof, that was – too much sex destroyed people’s ability to reason.

Remus still wasn’t there when he got back to the flat, so he turned into Padfoot and hid under Remus’ favourite chair. It was dusty, and he discovered half a bourbon biscuit that had grown a coating of interesting green fluff. He ate it.

After a while, he went to sleep, and, being Padfoot, dreamt about chasing rabbits and presenting their bloody carcasses to an overwhelming grateful Remus.

*

He was woken up when Remus sat on the chair. Startled, Sirius shot to his feet, hitting his head on the bottom of the seat. He let out a flurry of outraged barks.

Remus’ feet hit the floor, and he lifted the chair up. Sirius crept out, feeling a fool.

“Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”

Sirius slid back into his own form. “Fell asleep.”

“Idiot,” Remus said gently. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes, and Sirius fought the urge to grab his shoulders and march him back to bed. To sleep, of course.

“You’re back, then,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“I live here,” Remus said, gazing at him. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, and something which could have been pleading in his gaze.

Sirius turned back into Padfoot before he did something stupid.

“I wish,” Remus said, voice frustrated, “that I understood your brain.”

Some hours later, he looked up from his book to say, “It’s your turn to cook dinner. I’m not eating takeaways again.”

Sirius turned back and stalked into the kitchen long enough to put a couple of potatoes in the cooker. He even managed to turn it on.

“Stay human, please,” Remus called through the door. “I promise not to molest you.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” Sirius muttered and draped himself over the sofa again. Remus eyed him over his book, biting his lip.

Sirius hid behind _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance._

The silence settled around them.

Sirius stared at the words at the page and tried to pretend he wasn’t really staring at Remus. The problem was that he liked looking at Remus, and now he probably wouldn’t ever be allowed to again. It was so restful – Remus was all soft colours and funny angles, so quiet you could miss him until he smiled.

Remus was probably never going to smile at him again, either, and it wasn’t fair, because he liked Remus’ smile. Old ladies thought it was a nice smile, and the Fionas of the world thought it was charming. Sirius, who had seen it in reaction to a thousand pranks, thought it was both wicked and irresistibly, stupidly sexy.

Remus’ hair curled up at the ends, and his collar was never straight. His hands were strong and bony (and gentle, but he wasn’t thinking about that). His trousers were never quite long enough, and his ankles always stuck out at the ends.

He wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks.

He also hadn’t turned a page for a long time, so Sirius put his own book down, and said, “Thought you were going out.”

“I told you I wasn’t.”

“What about the tickets?”

“I gave them to Fiona. She’s taking her sister.”

“Right,” Sirius said, feeling a little warm twist in his stomach. He lifted his book again, and glanced at Remus.

Remus was looking over the top of _The Magus_ at him. He met Sirius’ gaze, blushing.

Sirius didn’t have the willpower to look away.

Remus’ lips parted, but he didn’t speak.

This had to stop. It had to stop before they did something stupid again.

“I’m going to check on the potatoes!” Sirius blurted out, and made for the kitchen.

Across the room, Remus shot to his feet, cutting in front of him. Sirius tried to dodge round him. Remus sidestepped, grabbing his shoulders.

Right. Desperate measures. He concentrated.

“If you turn into that bloody dog again, I shall stun you and take you to the vet to be neutered.”

“Moony,” Sirius said, shocked.

Remus wound his arms around Sirius’ waist and kissed him.

Sirius sighed into his mouth. He didn’t have enough strength of mind not to kiss him back. It didn’t make sense, but it was too wonderful to resist, when it meant he could tangle himself up with Remus, and kiss him until the world went fuzzy around them.

When Remus finally pulled away, he said, “I was awake when you woke up this morning.”

Well, bugger.

“And I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you, but just stop it, please. You weren’t that drunk last night.”

“I-” Sirius said weakly, and Remus kissed him again, stealing away his words with lips and tongue. Sirius closed his eyes and held on, feeling the knot in his stomach unfold into relief and warm delight.

He didn’t realise Remus was walking him backwards until they hit the sofa. He folded up obediently, and Remus settled on top of him, hands busy.

“I thought,” Sirius managed, “that you were waiting for the right person. You said you were.”

Remus blinked at him. “I was waiting for you. It was supposed to be obvious.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, and then Remus’ hand slipped down between them, and he said it again, for entirely different reasons. “Oh, oh, yes, Moony, oh.”

*

The next morning, Sirius again woke up with Remus’ head on his shoulder. He stared up at his own ceiling, and grinned at the crack. “Well, fuck,” he said happily.

“What?” Remus murmured sleepily. “Again?”  



End file.
